Morning Light
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: He'd long since figured out he was in bacta. He was able to orient himself to the sound of voices in the room, sometimes. When it was Hera speaking, always. And he could always sense that little flicker of light and life whenever she was near. He'd known for months now that she was carrying their child. AU. Two-shot.
1. Part One

A/N: So I wrote this for a fic exchange on tumblr. One of the prompts I had to choose from was "Kanera fix-it." Obviously, that's the one I just had to do. It took blood, sweat, and tears to get this done. I don't think it's my best work exactly, but I don't think I've ever poured my heart into any one fic this way, so it's kind of my baby for now. It was very cathartic to write; kind of helped me start to get over my Kanera blues. I think by and by I'm going to use it as like a starting point for a whole bunch of same-'verse, happiness-AU fics. I intended to hold onto this until I had a couple of those started, but I have the self-control of a four-year-old, so...

It's EXTREMELY, AU, obvi, so maybe parts of it don't make sense because I'm terrible at world-building; that's where I'll ask you to just suspend disbelief with me and imagine a 'verse where Kanan got to live and he and Hera got to be happy. Very special thanks to **RagnarDanneskjold** for reading/commenting/babysitting/kindly encouraging me through the agonizing process of getting this written. And to **WestwardGlance** for saving me from making a couple of plot errors I would have hated myself for if I'd ever found them. Y'all rock.

* * *

Morning Light, Part One

 _Life._

 _He'd been aware of it since before—what? He couldn't remember exactly. But before that—he'd been aware of this new life before that. At first he hadn't known what it was—it had been a soft pulsing, a subtle shift in the Force. Specifically: a subtle shift in the Force around Hera, a small, radiant light he'd never noticed before. He suspected maybe it was—but he didn't dare to hope, and he didn't dare to ask. She might not have known yet herself. He sensed that it was…early, still._

 _And then he sat meditating on Lothal's plain, facing the sunrise, and his mind was clear and everything was quiet. It was the calm before the coming storm, he knew. Hera knelt beside him and her hand touched his shoulder and it became undeniably apparent then: that subtle shift in the Force was a light, warm and bright, carried safely within her womb._

 _He couldn't remember much of what happened after that, but the light—he held fast to that when he could neither move nor breathe nor hear the sound of Hera's voice. The light kept him tethered to life._

* * *

The only sign of life right now was the too-slow rise and fall of Kanan's chest. If Hera squinted hard enough, she could see the slight motion even through the murky bacta. She glanced at the array of vital signs monitors. Almost everything was flashing red or yellow. She'd begged the medical staff to disable the beeps and alarms.

"It's a miracle he made it here alive," the medic said for the dozenth time. The med-droid nearby rattled off a string of probabilities and damning prognoses. Both Hera and the medic, a Nautolan man named Danek, frowned intently at the droid. Danek shook his head. "Exactly how did you manage it?"

Hera stood in front of the bacta tank, weary to the core. She wrapped her arms around herself, breathing deeply against waves of nausea as she watched Kanan's limp body hang suspended in the blue-tinged substance. He'd be there for months, Danek said— _if_ he survived at all. But thanks to the Force and Ezra, he'd survived this long. Hera thought about that moment; the moment Kanan's eyes had cleared and he'd _seen_ her, the moment the fire raged at his back, the moment Ezra summoned unknown stores of strength to pull Kanan from the blaze as it tried to swallow him whole…

She tilted her head just slightly in Danek's direction. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured.

"Hrmph." Danek shifted, a datapad in his hand. "This…may not be the ideal time," he started uncertainly, "but while you're here, there's the business of your post-mission physical."

Upon returning to Yavin, Hera had been required to submit to a battery of tests to evaluate her physical and mental fitness to return to duty after her failed X-Wing assault, her torture at Pryce's hands, Kanan's near-death, and everything else. She passed, of course, if only out of spite. "Yes?"

"There were some irregularities in your bloodwork." Hera didn't so much as arch an eyebrow, forcing Danek to his next statement: "You're pregnant, General Syndulla. About eight weeks."

Her breath caught inaudibly; she hadn't spoken the word _pregnant_ to herself yet, let alone heard anyone else say it. "I know."

She'd first suspected it when they were still on Lothal, just hours away from proceeding with their plan to liberate Capital City. Even with their victory there, she hadn't let herself dwell on any excitement she might have felt knowing she was carrying a child. Kanan was on Yavin, condition unknown, and there was still too great a chance that—that—

"Danek," she said suddenly, turning to him. Her features were lined with worry. "I was…" Beaten, electrocuted, drugged. She couldn't force the bitter words out of her mouth. "You saw my file."

Danek's wide, round eyes softened with compassion; he understood everything she wasn't asking. "There is nothing in the bloodwork to indicate that your pregnancy is in any danger. It's still early, but we can perform an ultrasound exam to be sure."

Hera nodded gratefully. "Please." She turned back to the tank—back to Kanan. She wanted only good news to tell him. She allowed herself to press a hand low on her abdomen. "Please," she whispered. She stood there for a long while, willing him to come back to her.

* * *

 _The memories came back slowly. After a while, Kanan remembered the fire. It was vague; he mostly just remembered the heat and the Force and the calm conviction that he had to do this. Ezra's life depended on it. Sabine's. Hera's—and, by extension, their child's._

 _He'd been able to sense that small light even then, juxtaposed sharply against the roar of the blaze. He'd stood with his hands outstretched. Behind him, death. In front of him, life._

 _And he thought he could remember seeing. Really seeing. Hera's face was etched plainly in his mind's eye; ever since going blind, he'd only been able to summon fuzzy and indistinct memories of her. This was different._

 _Wasn't it?_

 _He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn't. His body couldn't quite respond to his mind's commands yet, but he was thinking. He was remembering things. That was probably good._

 _He could still connect with the Force, though not for long. But he sensed that everyone was safe—tense, maybe, but safe—and he sensed that little flicker of life every time Hera was near. It was flourishing now, strong and bright. She was scared._

 _He wished he could tell her it'd be alright._

* * *

"She's really not alright," Zeb said plaintively, "even though she _says_ she is. You should see her—standing there giving orders and doing briefings like she didn't just toss her breakfast. Or lunch, or dinner...It's all the time, really."

Zeb scratched the back of his neck. He felt stupid talking to Kanan—talking to the bacta tank—but he'd heard stories of people understanding things while they were unconscious, and just in case those stories were true, Zeb knew he needed to spill this to Kanan. Things with Hera were getting out of hand.

"She has to get these injections every few days," he explained quietly. He looked over his shoulder, terrified he'd see the angry Twi'lek standing behind him. He didn't, so he continued. "Something about hormones and blood-type and preventing—a loss. I don't know. Sabine explained it all. Hera won't talk about it. Not because she doesn't want it or anything—every so often you catch her doing that _thing_ with her hands, the touching—" Zeb's own hands flailed uselessly in front of him. "Like expecting women do. She just won't slow down and she won't talk much about it and nobody knows what to do. It's a real Kanan-type situation."

Zeb cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "So do whatever freaky Force thing is gonna get you out of there and come and talk her down, would you?" Kanan didn't move or respond or anything, of course. The room was just eerily quiet. Not even the vital signs monitors were making noise today. "You're missed," Zeb said. "By all of us. _And_ —if your baby turns out to be a girl, Ezra and I will be seriously outnumbered, Kanan. So get your kriffing self back to the ship and do your part to even things out, okay?"

* * *

 _Hera wasn't okay—he could feel it in his bones. He couldn't focus on the source of her distress—whether it was physical or emotional. Maybe it was both. She just felt so...wrong. He wondered: had something happened—?_

 _No. She was still carrying that light and life with her._

 _But her own light in the Force was dim, anxious. He'd felt her like this before. He'd held her close during the nights when she'd been too worried to rest. He couldn't do that now, but he could think of what he'd say to her, over and over:_

 _I'm here, I'm here, I'm here._

 _Little by little, he felt her unwind._

* * *

Sabine's careful composure was starting to unwind. She prided herself on being able to remain detached and calm in situations where others might fall to pieces, but this was brutal to watch. Every nerve in her body was tense and straining, aching, screaming with empathy. Several times, she had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

No wonder the medics had waited to do this until Hera was off-base on a mission.

Kanan, heavily sedated and mostly unconscious, was lying face-down on a durasteel table, his body rinsed clean of the bacta. The med-droids and medics were smoothing and grafting the skin on his back, still in the process of healing from the horrific burns. He had months left in bacta, they said, maybe three or four. They'd pulled him out several times to do this procedure, but this was the first time Sabine had been with him. Ezra had tried to warn her—he really had—but she was still choking on panic when Kanan, even as sedated as he was, cried out in pain.

Danek, thank the Force, was calm and collected. "Talk to him," he encouraged. "Might do you both some good."

Sabine was sitting on a stool pulled up to the head of the table, and she was holding Kanan's hand. She wasn't sure why—she just thought maybe, if the roles were reversed, it'd be nice to have someone to anchor to. "Hey, Kanan," she started. She sounded strained, even to herself. She glanced up at Danek, self-conscious, and he smiled encouragingly. She shrugged. "Well—this sucks. But you already know that." She paused, hating how her voice sounded in the otherwise-quiet room. "Um. So, don't believe anything that Ezra's told you about what happened on Lothal. There were _not_ a hundred Purrgil. There _was_ some weird Jedi stuff, though. You…would have been proud. Ezra did it—he saved Lothal. _That_ part is true, so." She stopped, clearing her throat, blinking rapidly to keep tears from welling. "Another thing he might have told you but probably also embellished: he and I are…you know what? I don't know _what_ we are, but we're figuring it out. Together." She made a sound that was almost a laugh even as a few traitorous tears slipped down her cheeks. "Hera is so smug about it."

 _Kriff,_ she thought. _Hera._

Sabine sighed heavily, sobering. "She's pregnant, Kanan. Five months now, I guess. Just starting to show. She's stronger and healthier than she has been in weeks, thank gods. It got rough and she just kept right on being Hera—you'd have killed her. I don't know if—I _think_ she's happy? Or she would be, if you were...so just kick it in high gear with this whole bacta thing, okay? Hera needs you. We all do."

She couldn't go on, but Danek was right; talking to Kanan had proved oddly cathartic. He didn't respond—couldn't—but she still felt somehow that he heard her, even despite the drugs and the pain. She stayed with him until they put him back in bacta. Just before he was fully submerged, she swore she saw his eyes flicker open for half a second and she gasped.

The scar tissue left by Maul's blade was completely gone.

* * *

 _The feeling of total disorientation was gone. He'd long since figured out that he was in a bacta tank; he'd had the pleasure a few times before. Never for this long, but the experience was an unforgettable and distinctly unpleasant one. Bacta was warm, but it was also thick. Suffocating. Even though there was a breathing apparatus over his nose and mouth, Kanan felt like he couldn't breathe at all, like he was being swallowed alive. He wasn't, of course; that was just the claustrophobia talking._

 _One day, he realized that if he was lucid enough to feel claustrophobia set in, then he was probably being weaned off of sedation. Slowly. But still. That was progress. He was able to orient himself to the sound of voices in the room, sometimes. When it was Hera speaking, always. Her melodic alto was what he'd fallen in love with in the first place; he knew that if he was in a room full of a million beings, he'd still be able to zero in on the sound of her voice, bacta or not._

 _He sensed her presence often, though less often now than before. She wasn't avoiding coming to see him. He was sure of that—just as he was sure of the tension swirling in the Force around him. Something was happening. Hope and hopelessness warred for dominance in the hearts and minds of the beings serving in the Rebellion. Kanan could feel it. And he heard worry very plain in Hera's voice when she spoke to him. (She'd been doing that for a long time—telling him things whenever she came to check on him.) He was still too sedated to make out most of what she said, and he was submerged in liquid besides, but he could tell she was worried and she was_ _ **tired**_ _. Exhaustion radiated from her. She was heavily pregnant now, and the demands of carrying a child coupled with the demands of her duties to the Rebellion were almost too much—but Kanan could sense her resolve, the thing in her mind that kept driving her forward, her inner voice that said,_ _ **We're not done yet.**_

 _And he wanted desperately to ask her what was so important that she kept pushing herself this hard, but even if he'd been able to do so, someone came running in to call her away. She was all business in an instant, and Kanan swore he heard the other person tell her something about "plans" and an "Imperial weapon."_

 _That couldn't possibly be good._

* * *

"It's probably good you're still out," Ezra mumbled. He stood in front of the bacta tank, all but squirming. "'Cause you'd be so pissed about this. _I'm_ so pissed about this, but Hera was never going to listen to _me._ And Sabine—" He huffed a sigh, dragging a hand over his head. "She had that crazy, scary look in her eye like when she's itching to blow something up."

He'd had the unique displeasure of listening to Hera argue her way into joining the battle group hurtling toward Scarif. It had made him uneasy watching her pregnant self, along with Sabine and Zeb, board the _Ghost_ and take off. The odds of their survival, he figured, were not good. Not when they might be up against—the thing that Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso said they were up against. Or were looking for the plans for. Or something. The finer points of the issue were fuzzy to Ezra; he'd spent the last several days chewing pain-killers after a blaster injury left him unfit for duty.

His terror was the only thing not dulled by the medication. "I don't know how you freaking do it, Kanan." He scuffed the toe of his boot on the ground. "Watching Hera just...fly off into danger all the time. Or vice versa. Whatever. How do you guys _do_ that? It's driving me nuts knowing that Sabine is _there_ and I'm _here_ and—" He stopped again. "I know it's been a process with you and Hera—learning how to let go and trust and all that. Yeah...I'm gonna need you to teach me how to do that. I may be able to handle you in lightsaber combat, but I'm not _that_ strong yet, so..."

Giving up on words, Ezra reached out with the Force to try and get a sense of where Kanan's mind was. He was just on the edge of consciousness, though not _quite_ there. But Ezra could sense his master's presence more strongly than he had in months, and the hum of their connection to each other was once again a constant in his mind. That was encouraging, but Ezra knew they were all going to need more than "encouraging" if they were going to get through what was coming next. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but it wasn't good; they needed Kanan back now more than ever. He touched a hand to the glass, and the numbers on the vital signs monitor surged. Ezra gasped, wild with hope.

"Come on, Kanan."

* * *

 _"Come on, Kanan!" She'd yelled at his retreating back. "This is crazy, even for you! Not to mention dangerous!"_

 _He couldn't remember what they'd been doing; it was years ago now. But he remembered the note of fear in her voice. So well hidden, but there all the same. He'd turned sharply on his heel to face her, looking deep into those clear, green eyes he loved so much. "I will_ _ **always**_ _come back, do you understand?"_

 _He meant it as much then as now._

* * *

 _"Now!"_

The _Ghost_ went screaming into hyperspace, Sabine's trembling hand at the lever. Pale-faced, she looked at Hera. "What—what—"

"I don't know." Hera unbuckled her restraints and turned her seat, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She held her aching head in her hands. "I don't know."

Hera _thought_ she'd heard confirmation that the Death Star plans had been received by Raddus's ship, but she didn't know that for sure. And even if they had—the _Devastator_ was gone now. The _Tantive IV_ might have gotten away, but whether the Death Star plans were aboard was anyone's guess.

"You two okay?"

Hera and Sabine both jumped when Zeb commed from the turret. Sabine leaned over and pushed the talk-back button. "Fine," she answered, sounding anything but. "You get cooked up there?"

"Nah. But the calibration on this thing is all out of whack; I'm gonna stay up here and fix it. Send Chop, would you?"

Hera pinched the bridge of her nose and motioned to Chopper. He rolled out without having to be asked twice. " Got it. Thanks, Zeb," she said aloud. "We're en route back to Yavin."

"Copy."

The com channel went silent and Hera really looked at Sabine. There was a gash across her forehead; the _Ghost_ had taken a few hard shots, and she'd fallen into something while she was running from the nose gun to the cockpit. Dried blood was smeared across her forehead and down her temples. Some still oozed from the cut. "Let's get that looked at," Hera said. "You probably have a concussion." She frowned. "Why weren't you wearing your helmet? Did you suddenly decide to stop being Mandalorian?"

Mercifully, Sabine decided to ignore the sharp irritation in Hera's voice; she knew it was just a response to the stress of this awful day. "There was a reason I took it off—I don't remember."

That was half a lie; Sabine _did_ remember feeling so panicked and hot during the battle that she couldn't breathe. She just didn't remember at what point she'd thrown her helmet off, or even where it was now.

Hera massaged her own temple. "Well—let's go down to med-bay. Is your head the only thing?"

Bruises from her restraint harness criss-crossed her ribs and she felt rattled far beyond what she'd ever been; Sabine shuddered to think of how Hera must be doing. "Yeah," she said. Hera nodded, standing slowly. She wavered as she took a step forward, reaching back for her seat's headrest so she could steady herself. She groaned softly, kneading the side of her prominent belly with one hand.

"Hera?" Sabine half-stood, panicked, but Hera shook her head.

"He decided to wedge up into my ribs," she explained wearily. "Poor baby's had a rough day."

"You should go lie down," Sabine said. Her tone was severe. "I'm not kidding. I can clean up this cut, or Zeb can. You've _got_ to—"

"I _can't_ rest," Hera snapped, "not knowing what's out there. I—"

An insistent beep interrupted the conversation this time, an incoming one-way transmission from Yavin. Hera leaned over the console to read the text and felt all the blood drain from her face. She started to wobble at the knees and Sabine was there in an instant, helping her sink down into her seat.

"Hera—what is it?" Sabine pressed anxiously.

She forced the words out through stiff lips and the only thing she could really hear was the sound of blood rushing in her ears. "An emergency transmission. The _Tantive_ —Leia Organa—they've been captured."

 _"Manda."_ Sabine swore. "We're—we're finished."

Hera nodded weakly. "They'll be starting preliminary evacuations soon." She spoke like she was in a daze.

They stared at each other, the implications settling heavily between them. Sabine sat back down and she reached across the aisle to hold Hera's hand. They stayed like that until Hera had to land the _Ghost_ , and Sabine still had blood on her forehead when they disembarked, walking slowly down the ramp. They'd just stepped onto the tarmac when a medic came running toward them, screaming, "General Syndulla! You need to come to medical—STAT!"

Kanan.

"No, no, no, no, no," she whispered. She felt like she was slogging through mud, walking through a nightmare as Sabine grabbed her by the arm and they followed the medic. She started preparing herself for what she knew she was going to hear: _We're sorry, general, he's gone._

They walked in and the bacta tank was empty.

Hera felt her knees buckle and darkness crowded her vision and she was finding it harder and harder to _breathe_ and she heard Sabine call her name as if from far away. The younger woman tried to help her stay upright, but it was another pair of arms that kept her from falling, catching her when she started to sway.

"Easy, easy," Kanan said. He lifted her, supported her weight like she was nothing at all, like she was as slim and unencumbered by pregnancy as she had been the last time he'd touched her. Like he hadn't just spent six months in bacta, in a coma.

A harsh sound tore at her throat; overwhelmed, overwrought, relieved sobs made her entire body shake as he held her. She wanted to tell him everything: how much she'd missed him, how much she loved him, how it both thrilled and terrified her to carry their child these long months, how much danger they were all in, how it was all about to come crashing down, how the Empire was about to win—

"I know, Hera. I'm here now." He kissed her forehead as he carefully laid her down on an exam table. The medical droid came over, starting to fuss about taking Hera's vitals, but she ignored it, gazing up at Kanan. He looked perfect and healthy and strong. His hair was long again, thanks to the regenerative properties of the bacta, and he must have shaved before she'd come back, because instead of the wild beard that had grown in over the last few months, he was sporting the neatly-trimmed goatee he'd had for years before Malachor. And his _eyes_ —the dark scar still spanned across his temples, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids. But his eyes were teal and clear and _seeing_.

Hera started crying all over again.


	2. Part Two

Morning Light, Part Two

Kanan hadn't stopped watching Hera. He wished he could say it was because he was intoxicated by the feeling of being able to _see_ her again after almost two years of darkness. But it was because he could tell the medic was about to ground her, and he wanted to gauge her reaction.

The entire _Ghost_ crew was crowded into the exam bay. They made quite a sight with Ezra's arm still in a sling, Sabine's gashed forehead bandaged with gauze and strips of bacta, Zeb glowering in the corner, Hera sitting on the table hooked up to a fetal monitor, and returned-from-the-dead Kanan beside her holding her hand. The medic, a gangly, red-faced human man, stood in front of them, data-pad in his hand, looking more and more flustered by the nano-second.

"Clinically speaking, General Syndulla," he ground out, "your team is a karking nightmare." He pointed an accusatory finger at Ezra, and moved down the line as he spoke. " _You'll_ need physical therapy if you want that shoulder to work the way it's supposed to, _you_ have a grade two concussion, _your_ blood pressure is alarmingly high, _you—_ I have no medical explanation for and it's pissing me off, and _you—_ " He stopped when he got to Zeb and nodded curtly. "You're fine. But I've spoken with command and Captain Orrelios notwithstanding, you're all grounded effective immediately. You _will_ be permitted to take the _Ghost_ and escort the medical frigate off-world to Rendezvous One as preliminary base evacuations begin, but your duties end there until you can be medically cleared. Dismissed." The younger Spectres and Zeb filed out, but the medic pinned Hera to the table with a disapproving frown. "General Syndulla—you're being placed on maternity leave."

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. " _Now?_ With everything that's happened? The baby isn't due for another mo—"

"Your condition is borderline," the medic interrupted sharply. That got Hera's complete attention and Kanan didn't miss how her face suddenly turned pale. He squeezed her hand.

"What does that mean?" He asked, stepping in. He glanced at Hera. Her jaw was clenched tight. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her every way he knew how, but now was neither the time nor the place. "Is she okay? And the baby?"

"I feel fine," Hera said defiantly.

The medic jabbed a finger toward the vital signs monitor. "Krayt _spit_. With blood pressure as high as yours? That can't possibly be true. If it was _any_ higher, I'd have you on bedrest and you'd be looking at an emergency delivery. No guarantees that won't happen anyway. You're under too much stress and your body isn't handling it as well as I'd like _._ "

"Is the baby in distress?" She rubbed a hand across her abdomen, watching the monitor fearfully. It worried Kanan that Hera didn't try to argue that she _did_ feel fine.

"He's fine— _for now_." The medic glared hard at Kanan. "Can you keep her off her feet?"

"I'll make sure she rests," he answered with a nod. But just looking at Hera told him she'd have no trouble following the medic's instructions.

"Good." The man's beady eyes narrowed and he gave Kanan an up-and-down look as he disconnected Hera from the monitor. "I still don't understand _you._ " He turned, muttering to himself as he left the exam bay.

For the first time in months, Kanan and Hera were alone. Tentatively, he reached to place a hand on the curve of her belly. "He?"

A radiant smile lit her eyes for a fraction of a second. "We're having a son," she whispered.

* * *

The _Ghost_ and the _Gauntlet_ , along with the medical frigate, were among the first ships to evacuate Yavin Base. The situation was beyond dire; Leia Organa was believed to be dead, and the Death Star plans gone. No hope of winning. Little chance of surviving.

Hera almost didn't care.

Her crew—her family—were all fine, headed for the relative safety of the Alliance's rendezvous point. Sabine, Ezra, and Zeb were in command of the _Gauntlet_ , the Lasat doing the flying while the young adults no doubt argued about who could better perform as co-pilot. Kanan was piloting the _Ghost_ —Force, it was amazing to have him back again—while Hera watched from the right-hand seat. The trip was uneventful and they docked with the frigate as soon as they came out of hyperspace. Hera relayed that information back to Yavin.

 _"Copy,_ _ **Ghost**_ _,"_ the control officer acknowledged. _"Light cruiser_ _ **Expedient**_ _expected to arrive in two standard hours to relieve you."_

She inhaled sharply; two hours was all that was standing between her and uninterrupted time with Kanan. "Copy that, command. Syndulla out." The transmission died and for a moment she and Kanan just look at each other, each of them holding their breath, half-afraid this wasn't real.

"What now?" He asked finally.

"Now," she repeated, "I..." They'd need a plan. If she was grounded and the fleet was in danger anyway, they'd need somewhere to go, someplace to be when it was time for the baby to be born. Lothal, she thought dimly, would probably be their safest bet. But she didn't say any of that. All she said was, "Just hold me."

He stood and so did she, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands found her sides. He pulled her as close as he could and Hera was aggravated that their bodies didn't fit together the way she wanted them to—but having Kanan explore the new contour of her figure _was_ nice, especially when he laid his palm over her navel and the baby responded with a firm kick.

He gasped, locking eyes with her. "That's—?"

"Your son," she said, laughing.

He glanced down at her belly, completely awed. "That's—Hera—" He breathed her name, overcome by emotion, and then his eyes snapped to meet hers. Guilt was clear. "I'm sorry I missed all this."

She shivered, thinking of the too-many nights she'd cried herself to sleep, scared and almost sick with worry that he wouldn't make it. "I'm just glad you're here now, love."

She traced her thumb softly over his lower lip and tiptoed up to close the distance between them. She sighed when she felt his mouth warm and pliant against her own. She parted her lips to deepen the kiss because, _stars_ , she'd missed him and she needed him and nothing had felt right the last six months without him. She pressed as close as she could, but it still wasn't close _enough_ ; the baby, however, didn't appreciate the cramped quarters and responded with a series of kicks and stretches Kanan and Hera could both feel. He made a surprised sound, breaking their kiss.

"Hey there." He caressed her belly as he pulled back, still feeling the kicks beneath his palm. He met her eyes and looked back down again. "Is he always this active?"

Hera smiled wryly. "He doesn't like to sit still."

 _"Ah."_ Kanan drew out the syllable, exaggerating. "Sounds like someone else I know."

"Hush." She leaned in again, kissing him more insistently than before and she sighed, content, when he returned her kisses with fervor. She didn't realize just how hard her heart was pounding until he gently pulled back, cupping her face in his hand.

"The medic said you need to keep your blood pressure _down_ , remember? In fact..." His smile faded. "You shouldn't even be up."

She rolled her eyes, throwing a hand on her hip. "Kanan Jarrus, I—"

The rest of that reply was lost in a startled yelp as he literally swept her off her feet and carried her down the hall to her cabin. His arms were strong around her; there was no indication that he'd almost died, let alone that he'd spent six months comatose. He set her on the bunk, and she noticed how his gaze drifted to the bassinet in the corner of the room. She wondered if he was feeling overwhelmed by it all. He'd had hours to take in changes that she'd had months to adjust to. But if he was struggling to re-orient himself, he wasn't showing it. He seemed calm; not unconcerned, exactly, but not anxious. Not consumed with worry over the fact that they were about to bring a child into a galaxy where the Empire was wielding a weapon capable of planetary destruction.

He knelt on the floor in front of her, easing one boot off, and then the other. He proceeded to undress her slowly, piece by piece, until she was down to her basics. He reached under her pillow and pulled out the neatly-folded loungewear he knew he'd find there. She stepped into the compression leggings first, sighing in relief when she tugged the high-waisted band up to support her stomach. Kanan's forehead creased in concern. She half-laughed.

"Carrying a baby is uncomfortable business," she explained with a shrug. "But worth it."

She pulled on her shirt—an old one of Kanan's—and sat down on the bunk again, cross-legged. Kanan didn't move, still kneeling as his fingertips traced absent-minded patterns on her belly over and over. The tenderness of his touch was enough to put tears in her eyes. Longing to touch him in return, she pulled the band out of his hair and ran her fingers through it lazily. He looked up at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. Her breath caught; how many times the last few months had she tried to come to grips with knowing she might never see that smile again?

"Kanan," she said thickly. "Are you alright?"

His hands fell still as he considered the question. "I'm _fine_ ," he said after a moment. "It's—I don't know how to explain it, Hera. But I'm fine."

She shook her head. "Do you remember...Lothal?"

"I remember rescuing you. I remember what you told me." He smiled again and Hera's heart skittered wildly.

"I meant it," she whispered, taking his chin in her hand. "I love you."

"I know." His eyes shifted as he searched his memory. "And I remember...I remember thinking I had to do whatever it took to keep you and the kids safe. Nothing after that—not until the tank."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "You were aware of what was going on? While you were in bacta, I mean?"

"Not always." He resumed letting his hands wander over her belly, reaching under her shirt this time. She pulled it up over the curve to make it easier for him and he fell quiet, tracing her stretch marks and leaving soft kisses on her skin.

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious. "Stop that," she admonished breathlessly. "You were in the middle of talking to me."

He grinned wickedly, sitting back on his heels, but his hands stayed right were they were. Then he nodded, sobering. "I could hear things, toward the end. Most of the time, it was just...impressions. Feelings. Things I could sense through the Force. I could always sense _you._ And—the baby."

Hera inhaled sharply, tears pricking her eyes. "You knew?"

"Since the morning you left Lothal to prep for your X-Wing strike." His voice turned husky and rough. He pressed both hands over the place where he could feel the baby kicking and stretching inside her. "This light, this life we created...it's what...I had to hang onto that. To you."

Errant tears rolled down his cheeks and she brushed them away, fighting tears of her own. "Kanan." She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and then she told him what she'd been aching to tell him for months. "I'm scared."

"I know." He shifted out of the floor so that he was sitting next to her on the bunk, holding her tightly. "But I can feel in my bones it's gonna be okay. You, me, this baby—we're going to be fine."

"The Empire—"

"Hera, do you trust me?"

"Yes." She answered without hesitation.

"Okay. Then trust me."

She nodded. And then she lay back, putting her head in his lap, staring up into his clear, perfect eyes. A smile began at the corners of her mouth. "Kanan?"

"What?"

"Have you stopped to consider how stubborn this child could turn out to be, given the two of us as parents?"

"Mm." He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he pretended mull it over. "Have _you_ stopped to consider how compassionate and kind this child could turn out to be, given you as his mother?"

She laughed, reaching back to jab his ribs. "Don't get sentimental on me," she warned. "I've had all I can handle for today."

"Fine, fine," he sighed in mock-surrender.

They didn't say anything else for a long time, just enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. Eventually, Hera drifted off to sleep, Kanan still holding her, and for the first time in six months, she slept soundly through the night.

* * *

Nearly forty-eight standard hours later, the _Ghost_ was still docked with the medical frigate, despite the arrival of the relief vessel. To Hera's everlasting annoyance, the medic from Yavin base had arrived with the _Expedient_ and immediately demanded to get a reading on all her vitals, do a sono, etc. Kanan was relieved. He'd meant what he said; in the very core of his being, he believed that everything would be alright. But he still felt a darkness, a sense of foreboding in the back of his mind, and he knew better than to ignore that. He all but dragged Hera aboard the medical frigate.

"Kanan," she argued for the dozenth time, "I feel _fine._ "

She didn't, and he knew she didn't. There had been nothing but bad news from Yavin base, and the stress was taking a toll on Hera. He knew she was terrified and angry and helpless, and he knew that she'd had headaches and other discomforts she wasn't telling him about. "I hear you," he said, also for the dozenth time. "But _I_ would feel better hearing it from the medic, too."

The medic, grudgingly and with reservation, gave his stamp of approval.

"I told you," Hera snapped. She was walking two steps ahead of him as they made their way back to the _Ghost._ She had an arm wrapped protectively over her middle.

Kanan lengthened his stride in an effort to keep up with her. "Cut me some slack here; I'm making up for six months of nervous-dad worries."

"I've worried enough for both of us," she muttered. He caught her by the arm, forcing her to turn around.

"Look at me." She did, with her chin raised and eyes defiant. "What is it?"

"Kanan, I—" She stopped, grinding her teeth in frustration. "I'm _scared_. It's not—it's not the baby—it's...something _else_. I don't _know._ But this is more than a bad feeling. Something is—"

"Wrong," he finished quietly, brows drawing together. "I know. But you'll tell me if something _is_ wrong with you or the baby?"

"Yes, love." She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, letting go of her irritation and worry. "I promise."

It was a promise she didn't have to keep.

Just hours later, a tidal wave of darkness came crashing over Kanan's senses, several seconds of the most terrifying agony he'd ever known. And then nothing. Emptiness—a terrible, yawning emptiness in the Force where two billion lives had been. He had to steady himself against a wall. He heard his com chirping in his pocket and he knew it was Ezra—Ezra would have felt this, too—and in a dizzy split-second, he wondered about Hera. Hera, who had confided she felt the same sense of foreboding wrongness that he did, who was carrying his child; a child who _could_ be Force-sensitive. That kind of stress on the two of them—it would be overwhelming.

Kanan was already running through the _Ghost_ when he heard her cry out from the cockpit. He found her doubled over, hands braced on the control panel, face twisted in pain. She looked at him in panic.

"Kanan—Kanan," she gasped, breathing raggedly. There was a sheen of sweat on her skin. "I'm—I think I'm in labor—I feel—but it's _too_ _soon_. Something's—something's wrong."

He reached out with the Force and felt her terror and pain and confusion as deeply as if they were his own. And for the first time, he sensed their child as someone totally separate from her, not just being carried by her. The baby was on his way—and fast.

For the third time in as many days, Kanan lifted Hera. He felt her body go rigid as another pain squeezed around her. "I've got you," he said, swallowing unease. "Just hang on."

* * *

There was a long, horrible minute after Hera's final push. Her agonized cry died away and then there was nothing. The baby didn't make a sound. Hera was too exhausted to wonder why at first, but Kanan, standing at the bedside, saw their baby in the medic's hands, completely limp. He bent down and kissed Hera's forehead with trembling lips, desperately hoping to distract her as the medics worked. But instinct was telling her there should have been a child in her arms by now.

"Kanan—where—" She struggled to speak, still panting hard from pain and exertion. "Why haven't they given him to me?" Panic began setting in and she tried to sit up fully.

Kanan put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You need—"

A sharp, angry wail interrupted him and it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

Jacen Syndulla Jarrus was laid in his mother's arms and Kanan half-laughed, half-cried as Hera took him. The entire galaxy stood still and he had trouble remembering what they'd been so worried about before.

It was hours before anyone had the heart to tell them the news of Alderaan.

* * *

Sometimes, the chaos and the joy and the fear accompanying Jacen's arrival seemed like it belonged to someone else's life. Here and now, when she was so warm and comfortable and safe, it was hard to imagine that it had all happened to _her._ Hard to remember that her entire life hadn't been as perfect and happy as it had been the last few weeks.

Hera woke slowly, stretching her arms over her head before she opened her eyes and let them focus. She smiled when she saw Kanan sitting in the chair by the bed, Jacen asleep on his shoulder.

"You should have gotten me up," she admonished, voice drowsy.

"And let you hog the baby?" He grinned. "Not a chance. Anyway—all he needed was a diaper change."

"Mm." She sat up, reclining comfortably with her back against the headboard. "He'll be hungry soon enough."

"And you can have him then."

"I gave birth to that child," she warned playfully. "I can have him whenever I want."

Kanan pretended to consider. "How about this?" He climbed in bed next to her, careful not to jostle the baby. He sat so their shoulders were touching, and she leaned against him, laying a kiss on the baby's forehead.

"Better," she said. She sighed in contentment—and shuddered. How close they'd come to losing everything.

"Hey." He shifted so he could look in her eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking about. "It's over now."

Hera nodded. It was hard not to let her mind wander back to pain and terror she'd felt giving birth to Jacen, and the bone-deep elation she'd felt when he was laid on her chest and took his first, squalling breaths. The joy of that moment was soon eclipsed by the news of the Empire's use of the Death Star. That, Kanan said, was probably what triggered her labor in the first place. The catastrophic loss of Alderaan sent devastating shockwaves through the Force, affecting both her and Force-sensitive Jacen. In vulnerable moments, when she picked him up and felt how tiny he still was, Hera felt guilty about not being able to carry him longer. But then Kanan reminded her that he was safe and perfectly (if inexplicably) healthy and, really, with the two of them for parents, hadn't he been destined for a dramatic entrance anyway?

It was a morbid joke; one that Hera was only able to laugh at because the Death Star was gone now, and the Empire temporarily on the defensive.

She glanced out the window, squinting in the early morning sun. As soon as she'd recovered enough to travel, they'd come to Lothal. In the months since Lothal's liberation, Ryder Azadi had seen fit to renovate and restore the old Bridger residence in Capital City, leaving it to Ezra. Ezra, in turn, gave it to Kanan and Hera. He wouldn't be needing it, he said, since he was going to Krownest with Sabine for the time being. The Spectres would be reunited eventually, but not for a long while. The Rebellion was important, but family more so.

Hera turned back to Kanan, smiling. "We're parents," she said suddenly.

"For a whole month now." Kanan nuzzled his cheek on top of Jacen's downy head. Much to his delight, the baby's hair was beginning to look dark green, and the very tips of his little ears were tinged with the pigmentation of Hera's skin. "And it's too late to give him back if you're having second thoughts. We're keeping him. I'm too attached."

Hera laughed. " _You're_ the one I'd be giving back," she teased, nudging him. "I could easily drop you off right back where I found you on Gorse."

"But you're too attached."

She looked across the room to where her kalikori was proudly displayed, a piece for both Kanan and Jacen added, and then she looked at the slim band on her ring finger. "Something like that."

"Gee. I love you, too," he said. She could practically hear his eyes rolling. Any further comment was cut off when the baby started squirming against his shoulder, grunting his discontent as he searched for what he wanted. Kanan gently shifted him to Hera's waiting arms. "Your turn."

One-handed, she adjusted her top and her undergarments so the baby could nurse unimpeded. He held fast to her, sucking patiently, looking up at her with dozy eyes. One tiny hand wrapped around the end of her lek, just barely holding on, as if he knew to be gentle. Hera's heart melted completely, as it always did. After a while, she glanced up to find Kanan watching her, a steadfast and loving expression on his face. But there was something else, too. Her brows drew together in concern. "What is it?"

He hesitated before he asked a question of his own. "How long do I get to keep _you_?"

She hummed, looking away. She knew he was asking when she intended to return to the Alliance. "Well," she began slowly, "we have at least another six months of this." To illustrate her point, she shifted the baby from one breast to the other, waiting for him to re-settle before she continued. "And then you and I have six months of lost time to make up for. More, really, if you consider how long you were on Mandalore while I—"

"A year," he interrupted, awestruck. "You're going to spend a whole _year_ just here on Lothal?"

"I'm not spending a whole year 'just' anything, Kanan Jarrus," she returned sharply. "I'll be with you and Jacen—my _family._ For longer than a year, if I can." She dropped her gaze, suddenly unsure. She hoped he'd understand her need to go back at all; even just thinking about it felt selfish. But there was still that drive nipping at her, deep down, telling her that her work wasn't finished until the Empire was gone for good and her son would have a free galaxy to grow up in.

She was taken completely by surprise when Kanan leaned in for an impulsive kiss. "That's the best news I think I've ever heard," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Hera."

"Stars, I love you." His face still lit up like a supernova every time she said that. She said it again, touching their foreheads together. "I love you, Kanan."

He didn't answer, but she didn't need him to. He held her as close as he could with the baby between them. Things in the galaxy were still uncertain, still dark, but here and now, none of that existed. All that existed was them and their child and the warmth of the sun as it streamed in through the window. The light of dawn promised hope, chasing away shadows of the past and worries of the future, and Hera basked in it.


End file.
